16
Thomas watched for Cassidy down the hallway. She had to be coming out soon. Mrs. Johnson would have his hide if he didn’t get back to the kitchen, and he didn’t want to risk her anger just when she’d finally agreed to let him work for her full-time again.
But he wanted to be there for Cassidy. She was the only one who smiled and encouraged him no matter what blunder he made. Not only that, but she made him feel special, and no other girl had ever done that.
He brushed a dirt smudge off his pants and propped his foot up against the wall behind him. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but every time he tried it felt like he had a mouth full of cotton. If only he could talk to someone and get advice on how to court a lady. The only one he could talk to, though, was Mr. Ivanoff, and he was Cassidy’s father. So that made the situation impossible.
A door closed and it brought his attention up. There she was.
Carrying a tray, she blew a strand of hair out of her face.
He raced toward her, doing his best not to get his feet tangled. “Here. Let me take that for you, Miss Cassidy.”
“Why, thank you, Thomas.” She handed him the tray and smoothed her hair back with her hands. “My hair was making my nose itch and I best get it back under control before we reach the kitchen. There’s lots of food to prepare, and I don’t think the guests would like my hair to be in it.”
They laughed together as they walked. She always could make him laugh. That was one of his favorite things about Cassidy. It didn’t hurt that she was so pretty. He loved her dark eyes and hair. He didn’t even think he’d mind if her hair got in his food.
“Uhh . . . how’s your . . . dad doing?”
“A little better. He makes a poor patient. He wants to be up and back to work. It’s hard on him not being able to do what he loves.”
“At least he knows what he loves.” Thomas felt his face flush and hurried to change the subject. “I know the guests have asked about him.”
“I know. I’ve had several ask me as well. He’s definitely missed.”
She worked on winding her hair around and around, and Thomas forgot what he was going to say and just stared. Was her hair as soft as it looked? When they reached the kitchen, he was so fascinated with the knot she’d made at the back of her head that he must not have been paying attention, because all of a sudden, she turned around.
“Thomas, I—”
Too late he realized his mistake and the tray slammed into the front of Cassidy. The rest of Mr. Ivanoff’s soup and fruit now covered the front of Cassidy’s apron and dripped off her face.
Allan knocked on John’s door.
“Come in.”
He turned the knob and entered the room where his boss was recuperating. “Sorry to bother you, John.”
“I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk.”
John pushed up with his fists. “No matter how hard I try, I keep sinking down into this bed.”
“Here, let me help.” Allan moved forward and lifted a pillow up while John situated himself.
“I didn’t realize how sore my muscles would be.” John rubbed his midsection.
“That mama landed quite a kick, so you better follow the doctor’s orders.”
He took a sip of water. “All right, now what can I help with?”
“It’s Thomas.”
John raised his eyebrows.
“I just came from a meeting with Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Bradley. Apparently, he had another clumsy moment and spilled a tray all over Cassidy. So Mr. Bradley thought he should assign Thomas to me, since you are laid up and I could use the help.”
John chuckled. “Go on.”
“Well, last time you took him on when Mrs. Johnson had had enough of him, and while we weren’t without mishap, he did do so much better for you. That’s why I need your advice. I don’t want to lose my patience with him.”
“Ah, I understand.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“How did you do it?”
His mentor looked out the window and then smiled at him. “You might not like hearing this, but I try to look at Thomas like God looks at me.”
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” He scratched his head. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“It means that I know I’m a messed-up sinner. I make lots and lots of mistakes. And yet God loves me so much, He looks past all of that and sees what I am underneath—washed clean. Without any of those mistakes.”
“I’m not sure you’ve hit on all sixes today, John. Has that medic given you some medication that’s made you a bit . . .” He lifted his eyebrows and wiggled them.
John laughed. “Oh, don’t do that. Don’t make me laugh, that hurts too much.” He patted his middle again. “No, this isn’t any medication talking. It’s just plain ol’ truth. The point is, how dare I think that I’m better than anyone else? No matter if I’m clumsy or beautiful and graceful, no matter the color of my skin or where I was raised. No matter if I have lots of money, or if I have none. God loves us all. Exactly the same. Not one of us can earn our way into heaven.”
“I remember hearing my dad say the same thing. But how do you not get frustrated with him?”
John smiled. “With God or with Thomas?”
Allan shook his head and couldn’t help but smile. John seemed to be able to read his mind. “Well, both, but for now—Thomas. It’s hard to have patience when someone is making another mess while you’re still busy trying to clean up the last one.”
“We make a mess of things from time to time. When I err, when I make a mess of things, I want to be forgiven. I figure others feel the same way.”
The words hit Allan and he knew he could no longer avoid the topic of forgiveness. Not that he even wanted to.
“John . . . I’ve been wrong to hold Dad’s death against you.” He looked down at his hands, uncertain he could continue. “I was . . . angry. When I heard about Dad, I was angrier than I’d ever been. I was angry that the war had kept me from going with him on the climb. I was angry that you had somehow failed to keep him alive, and I was angry at God for taking Dad away from me.”
When John said nothing, Allan forced himself to look up. There were tears in John’s eyes. “I want to do the right thing regarding my family and the business, but I’m almost afraid that what I’ll uncover will be worse than what I ever imagined.” Allan drew in a deep breath. “But I want you to know that I don’t hold you responsible for anything that happened. And . . . I hope that you’ll forgive me.”
John smiled and wiped at his tears. “Son, you’ve always had my forgiveness.”
“I appreciate that—even if I don’t deserve it.”
Allan got to his feet, but John wasn’t finished with him. “You know, you’ve got God’s forgiveness too. You just need to seek it.”
Allan looked past John to the open window. This man was so full of knowledge. Just like his father. And he missed his father. More than he could even say. But John was asking for more than Allan could give. He was asking for Allan to say it was okay for God to take away his father. And to admit that he couldn’t handle any of this on his own. Ever since coming home from the war, he’d done a pretty good job of taking care of himself—at least he’d built a pretty good fortress to hide inside.
He drew a deep breath and let it go. “I know.”
So young Allan Brennan was getting wise.
Frank was livid. He’d done everything he could to gain complete control of the business—the business that was his. His! Henry had been the one in the way, but he’d gotten rid of him. Then that stupid will had to show up. He’d never forgive himself for that giant mistake. Then the son-in-law, Louis, started poking around and meddling. Like he had any say whatsoever. And now Allan thought he could just defend his family and take sides with John Ivanoff. Who knew what stories that man had planted?
Frank threw the glass bottle in his hand up against the wall and watched it shatter and fall. He glanced back down at the telegram. No doubt, the kid had hired his uncle’s firm to audit. But Frank had another card up his sleeve. All he had to do was make a phone call.
“Two can play at this game.” The words drifted on the air.